


The Listener

by ottermo



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 17:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1518350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottermo/pseuds/ottermo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thursday's not his boss any more, but Morse has made a habit of going to him to talk about cases. Maybe it's not strictly best practice; maybe he doesn't care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Listener

"Anything?"

Jakes' voice is flat, not expecting a different reply from the one he got an hour ago when he asked the same question. Morse has been staring at the sheets of paper strewn across his desk by turns, scouring one, two, three, working his way down a pile of yellowed records. God knows what he's looking for. Or maybe not even Him, Jakes thinks. Morse's mysterious ways are in a league of their own at times. 

His colleague shakes his head, then winces, pressing his hand against his neck. He's been sitting in one position for so long his bones have forgotten what movement ever was. "Nothing. All right, maybe it's not in here after all, I don't know. So I'll....think of something else." 

Jakes watches with interest as Morse daintily doesn't say "I'm at a loose end, Jakes", while clearly meaning it. 

Morse collects the papers into a neat pile again and stands up from his desk. "Think I'll go and talk it over with Thursday."

"Yeah, good idea." Anything to get him out of this tiny room, Jakes thinks, will probably be good for him. Going through the records of their latest victim's entire business history has yielded nothing, but sometimes Morse falls victim to a sheer inability to give up a thread, however straggling. Privately, Jakes thinks Thursday is more than a little beyond giving much assistance nowadays, but Morse has made quite a habit of consulting him nonetheless.

"Back soon." 

Jakes nods his reply.

The air outside the station is surprisingly chilly for the time of year, and Morse's hands go straight to the pockets of his overcoat as he exits. Making his way down the street towards Thursday's, though, he begins to feel slightly less despondent. With precious few leads in the current case - local businessman found dead, no known enemies, only discovered when his wife returned home from visiting her sister in Scotland - it's nice just to be out of the office, leaving his fruitless analysis behind. And talking to Thursday is sure to help. It always does. He may not be Morse's DI anymore - his injuries saw him permanently retired from active service - but he's still the man Morse trusts most in the world, and the man to whom he owes his life and career. He often goes to him to talk over cases, even now, and there's always something to be gained - even if it's just a reminder of someone's belief in him. 

Morse's life has been filled with people disagreeing with him for as long as he can remember. Some of them have valid reasons for their disagreements; others seem to take issue with his ideas on principle, because the idea of Morse being right is distasteful to them. Well, he has long since decided, he can't help that. He doesn't much care if he's liked, but it's nice to be listened to, and even though Thursday doesn't always agree, he always listens to what Morse has to say. Even in his early constable days, when his imagination outran his judgement more frequently than he liked to recall. Thursday listened. And he didn't automatically discount Morse's next idea just because one of them had been proved wrong - it was a proper faith he had in his young constable, even then. Some days that faith is all Morse needs, some days it's all he even has. 

Not that life is unbearable now that he works mainly with Jakes - on the contrary, their relationship has morphed from criticism and slights into something resembling camaraderie and respect, and it's almost pleasant. Jakes is perhaps more similar to him than either of them care to admit, particularly in his stubbornness, and the two of them have solved a fair amount of cases efficiently, in part because neither of them give up easily. But in Morse's heart, a case isn't over 'til he's recounted it all to Thursday, a suspicion unconfirmed 'til he's referred back to the man he still calls "sir" even though, strictly speaking, they no longer have a formal relationship. Technically, case details shouldn't be passed on to those outside the force, but Morse doesn't even think of it as an exception to be made: Thursday is still part of the station, as far as he's concerned. Goodness knows Morse isn't short of self-belief, at least as far as intellect goes, but nonetheless he doesn't quite feel able to extricate himself from the Morse-and-Thursday unit quite yet. So it's just as well he doesn't quite have to. 

Win is just leaving as Morse arrives, and she gives him the "Hello, love" and peck on the cheek that have become customary since his "social" calls first began. "Come to see Fred, have you?"

He nods, and she pats his arm, "It's good of you." 

Good _for_ me, he thinks, and then feels slightly guilty that he's visiting partly for his own gain rather than out of kindness to Fred. Still, Thursday would hate to be made to feel like a charity case, so it's probably just as well. 

"I'm off to meet Joan on her lunch break," Win says, with as much brightness as she can muster after the short silence, and Morse asks her to send his regards (though doubtless he'll run into Joan himself at some point) and she's soon on her way. 

This little intermission from his thoughts has been enough to unwind him from his office-bound frustration, and so after greeting Thursday the usual way (the "sir" rolling off his tongue just as it always has) he begins to set the scene of the current case, animated and passionate.

"We're pretty much at a dead end," he says when he's finished, "And there's no way the wife could have been anything to do with it. She was in Scotland, unless of course she...ohhh!" 

Realisation hits him as if from nowhere, and he jumps up from where he's been sitting. "How did I not see that? Thank you, sir!"

The chase's proverbial thrill taking hold of him again, he begins to return to the station, a new idea beginning to form. Amazing how just talking it through to an extra person can shed unexpected light on things.

Just before he leaves, though, he turns back. Casts one last, lingering glance at the smooth grey stone. It's temporarily brightened by the little vase of flowers Win has just left, but Fred Thursday's name is still picked out in solemn capitals, as upright and unwavering as the man himself.

"Thank you, sir," Morse says again, because talking to Thursday always helps. But oh, how he misses the days when he could hear the replies.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry. This feels really half-baked, but I had to try once I'd thought of it. Still not over Neverland.


End file.
